HUBERT

As of a good old gentleman my Lord, That speaks but what he thinks, & thinks you think As he does: and I warrant you Will not canceale those praises from the Queen, Which as he deems you uttered in her praise. Even that which to your Majesty May seem contentful, thereto I agree. I faith your Grace did Oxfords years great wro ̄ g, To curtal his good work, that seemed so long: He peradventure would have brought in more, After his Preface, to rich plenties store. Perchance he would have showed dame vanity, That in your Court is suffered hourly: And bade you punish ruffians with long hair, New fashions, and such toys: a special care Has that good man: he turns the statute book: About his hall and chambers if you look, The moral virtues in fair effigy, Are lively painted: moral Philosophy Has not a sencence, be it great or small, But it is painted on his Honours wall. Why my good Lord, was never Poetry, Offered unto a Ladies patronage? Yes, and taken too. Though muddy slaves, whose ballatizing rhymes, With words unpolished, show their brutish thoughts, Naming their Maukins in each lustful line: Let no celestial beauty look awry, When well writ poems, couching her rich praise, Are offered to her unstained virtues eye. For Poetries high sprighted sons will raise, True beauty to all wished eternity: Therefore my Lord, your age is much to blame, To think a taken Poem Ladies shame. As on a mask; but for our torchbearers, Hell cannot rake so mad a crew as I. Will Brand, my Lord. But then your Grace must curb his cruelty: The reign once God, he's apt for villainy. You may persuade her, if you can my Lord: For I protest I know no other thing, But that the king would have him for a pledge of the Lord Bruises faith. Do good simple Earl. If not by threats, nor my intreats she yield, Thy brain is barren of invention, Dried up with care: & never will she yield her son to thee, that having power, wantest wit. Hid, or fled my Lord: we can by no means get her to confess. Your wife is here, your son we cannot find. Mowbray, they be. You cannot hide your self Matilda: no disguise Will serve the turn: now must you to the king: And all these wars will with your presence cease. Yield you to him, he soon will yield to peace. And the king die with doting on thy love. Thy tears and love of virtue have the power To make me, at and instant, true and false: True to distressed beauty and rare chastity: False to king John, that holds the sighed of thee Dearer than England, or earth's Empery. Go happy soul, that in so ill and age, Hast such fair beauty for thy heritage: Yet go not so alone. Dost hear tall soldier? I know thee honest guide this gentle maid, To Dunmow Abbey: she is one I know. I will excuse thee and content thee well. My signet take, that ye may pass vnsearch . This days fierce slaughter, John, our King, lame ̄ ts: And to you three, great leaders of and host, That now have not a man at all to lead: You worthy captains without companies By the Moon I do not, and put the blessed too't It is as good and oath as you have sworn. My heart grieves, that so great hearts, as yours be, Should put your Fortune's on a sort of slaves, That bring base fear within them to he field: But to the matter. Sith your state is such, That without mercy you are sure of death (Which I am sure, and well his Highness knows, You do not fear at all) yet he gives grant, On joust conditions you shall save your lives. When all these fields were walks for rage & fear (This, howling Like a head of hungry wolves That, scudding as a herd of frighted deer) When dust arising Like a coal black fog, From friend divided friend, joined foe to foe: Yet neither those, nor these could either know, Till here and there through large wide mouthed wou ̄ ds Proud life, even in the glory of his heat, Losing possession, belched forth streams of blood: Whose spouts in falling, made ten thousand drops, And with that purple shower the dust alaid: At such a time met I the trembling maid, Seeming a dove, from all her fellows parted. Seen, known, and taken: unseen & unknown, To any other that did know v both, At her intreats I sent her safely guided, To Dunmow Abbey: and the guide returned, Assures me she was gladfully received, Pitied: and in his sighed did take her oath. Yet, I beseech you, hide it from the king: At least that I conveyed her to the place. Matilda is afraid to leave the h, ouse: But lo, on yonder battlement she stands: But in no case will come within your hands. My Lord, the Abbess lies, I warrant you: For I have herd, there is a Monk of Bury, That once a weak comes thither to make merry. Oh black and woeful deed! Oh pittous thing, When slaves attend the fierce thoughts of a king. Your tyrannies have lost my love almost: And yet I cannot choose but love eternally This wanton king, repleat with cruelty Oh how are all his princely virtues stained, With lust abhorred, and lascivious heat! Which kindling first to fire, now in a flame, Shows to the whole world clearly his fowl shame. To quench this flame, full many a tide of tears, Like overflowing full seas, have be spent: And many a dry land drunk with humane blood, Yet nothing helps his passion violent: Rather they add oil to his raging fire, Heat to his heat, desire to his desire, Somewhat I fear, is now a managing. For that prodigious bloody stigmatique, Is never called unto his kingly sighed, But Like a Comet he portendeth still Some innovation, or some monstrons act, Cruel, unkindly, horrid, full of hate: As that vile deed at Windsor, done of late Gentle Matilda somewhat I mistrust: Yet thee I need not fear, such is his love; Again, the place does give thee warrantise: Yet I remember when his Highness said, The lustful monk of Bury should him aid: I so it is; if she have any ill, Through y lewd shaveling will her shame be wrought. If it so chance, Matilda's guiltless wrong Will with the lose of many a life be bought. But Hubert will be still his dread Lords friend, However he deserves, his master serve: Though he neglect, him will not I neglect: Whoever fails him, I will John affect. For though kings fault in many a foul offence, Subjects must sue, not mend with violence. We will make issue ere ye enter here. Who have we there, Richmond and Bruise? Is't you? What, up so soon, are ye so early here? In you i'faith the Proverb's verified: You're early up, and yet are never the near. The king is angry; Lady Bruise advise you. Some cruel task is pointed for that slave, Which he will execute as cruelly. I saved young A thurs eyes, and pity thee: My word is joust, which I have given the king. The king I love: and thee I know he loves. Compare these: then how can I pleasure thee? She now is where she never will return. Dead to the world: dead to this woe she is. She lives at Dunmow, and is vowed a Nun. By all the faith and honour of my kin: By my unstained allegiance to the king: By my own wor , that hath reproouelesse been, She is at Dunmow. And look my Lords upon his silent woe: His soul is at the door of death I know. See how he seeks to suck, if he could draw, Poison from dead Matilda's ashy lips. I'll be sworn his very heart strings nips. A v ng ance on that slave, that cursed Brand, I'll kill him if I live, with this right hand.